


Model Boyfriend

by Waters



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, M/M, Modeling!, Museums, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Well there's modeling in the backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waters/pseuds/Waters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his second year of Harvard Kyoya realizes three things: Tamaki is in love with him, the two of them are drifting apart, and he has no idea what he's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fullmetal-mix](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fullmetal-mix), [liberosis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberosis/gifts).



> This is for [fullmetal-mix](http://www.fullmetal-mix.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Brought to you by Tamaki and Scott trashing talking Kyoya in French, and lots of pining. Also Scott is Canadian, with as much French as I have and I wrote the mistakes and how he speaks like I would say it, so yes I know it's _a vendu_ but Scott is confusing vendre with venir in terms of which one is conjugated with etre. 
> 
> ALSO! COME TALK TO ME ON MY [TUMBLR](http://www.stories-n-things.tumblr.com)! Even if this is years later I swear to god I'll be down for it.

 

There were a lot of problems with trying to date Tamaki.

The first problem was simple logistics. Even if Kyoya might have suspected that Tamaki had feelings for him, taking any immediate action would require forming a plan, asking Tamaki out, actually figuring out where to take him, taking him there, probably flirting, and other things Kyoya had no real experience in.

There was this idea that people who were college age, especially men, especially attractive twenty-year-old men, were not supposed to be virgins and were supposed to crave and seek out sex or, at the very least, relationships. Kyoya had done neither of those things. Fancy, sweet lines at the host club were one thing, figuring out how to have a working relationship built on trust, honesty and mutual romantic attraction was another.

The second problem was one of differentiation.

Tamaki and Kyoya were close. They’d always been close. They’d gone out to eat, to the theatres, to cinema,  they sometimes linked arms, had (though infrequently) slept in the same bed. They even shared food, and Tamaki had used to call him “wifey” and “babe” and pretended they were married before he started dating Haruhi. 

And they were both hosts, or had been back in high school, and each of them had a veritable database of lines and sweet talk to use. None of which would be permissible to try out on each other.

So there was a pretty big chance that if he did ask Tamaki out, it would be hard to make it feel different, like a real date.

The third problem was the modeling. Or maybe it was just college in general. Maybe it was that Kyoya was more relaxed, more ready to seize the day. But Kyoya was probably getting ahead of himself here.

 

 

Kyoya realized he had a shot with Tamaki, after picking him up at the airport in Boston.

Meeting at the actual airport had been fine. Kyoya's sort-of-roomate Scott had driven Kyoya here, because Kyoya didn’t drive and Scott was just a genuinely nice guy. Or well, Scott was an asshole, much like Kyoya, but, also much like Kyoya, he had his genuine moments.The point was Scott had driven and waited in the car while Kyoya had gone to get Tamaki.

That had all been well and good, there'd been greetings, a hug, but nothing too much. It was the walk back to the car that had done him in.

The problem was that Kyoya was on a billboard, and Tamaki had stopped to look at it. Kyoya had seen the billboard as soon as it was in sight, but they’d still been walking to Scott’s car, and he’d hoped to ignore it. He hadn't expected to be placed on a billboard, no one had told him about it, or maybe Kyoya just hadn't been listening.

“You’ll have to show me all the new places you’ve found,” Tamaki was saying. “All the new restaurants, parks, anything new since I was here last time.” Their arms were linked, loosely, with the fingers of Tamaki’s other hand lightly pulling at the crook of Kyoya’s elbow.

Then, the finger’s had tightened, Tamaki had stopped, gazing darting up at the ad as they stood in the middle of the parking lot.

It had been over a year since Tamaki and Haruhi had broken up, but Kyoya had ignored his feelings. In high school he’d almost managed to convince himself they were platonic but living by himself, listening to commoners and realizing that no one cared how Kyoya acted or what he did, Kyoya had tried to stop lying to himself.

Tamaki stared up at the ad, mouth parted. His eyes dilated, his nostrils flared slightly, and his ears turned the slightly bit red.

“Is that you?” Tamaki asked in heavily accented English. Everything in Kyoya’s mind froze, trying to piece these things together. Was his mind really suggesting what Kyoya thought? Dilated pupils, the nostrils, the red ears, these things only happened on one of three occasions: sexual arousal, fear, or sometimes when seeing someone you loved.

 _Could Tamaki really have feelings for him_?

But Tamaki had never acted on it, and Kyoya was sure his own feelings had been obvious, and Tamaki was always so good at reading him so he must have known. So why then, if Tamaki liked him hadn’t he—

“Kyoya?”

“Yeah—” Kyoya said, though it came out in more of a choke.

“You’re a model?”

Kyoya cleared his throat. He steered Tamaki away from the ad and tried to explain the sequence of events that led him here, as they walked back to the car. Tamaki’s duffle bag, slung over one shoulder, swayed as they walked.

“Well, when I was at Paris Fashion week, that’s probably not how you say it, whatever, I saw this girl—”

“Why were you in Paris?”

“For my internship—”

“What internship, start at the beginning! Your face is on a billboard.”

It was more than just his face, but Kyoya relented and started from the very beginning.

In high school, Kyoya had occasionally agreed to model some of the twin’s footwear collection. He had nice, elegant feet, even if they were too wide, and he had six toes on each foot. The twins had agreed to give him free shoes for the modelling and when your feet were extra wide form extra digits, free shoes were always welcome. He hadn’t really paid it much attention.

It had been awkward at first, but he’d relaxed. They were just pictures of his feet and he didn’t need to spend a lot of time thinking about it.

When Mei, Haruhi’s aspiring fashion friend, had asked him to model, Kyoya had had nothing better to do. While in Boston for his final year of high school, he’d been positively bored. There was no host club, and less of Tamaki, and the possibilities were a) make some other friends b) spend more time with the twins c) throw himself into something else. He’d mostly chosen c. Though, helping Mei was probably also pushing into territory a. The point was Kyoya had had some experience and he hadn’t really meant for it to be a big thing. It was a comfortable thing to do, easy, and Kyoya had realized that spending time with commoners generally was easy. He didn’t need to impress them, to put on big displays and if he said what he was thinking, scathing or funny or even nice, it didn’t really matter because no one was important enough to change anything.

Then, once he’d settled in at Harvard, he’d expected it all to go away, and drift into the distance. He’d thought this new found ease with commoners, this modelling thing, would all fade and he’d be back to fake smiling and trying to find his own best angle. Somehow this had lead to more modelling with the twins, but, Kyoya insisted, only on runways, never ads.

This had lead to him to an understanding of the top names in fashion and somehow one thing after an another, one internship had led to one thing which had led to him modelling during Paris fashion week and some other stuff had happened and now Kyoya was the face of a new line of high fashion leather jackets.

The fact  was though, that his ease with commoners had only increased and once he’d had a taste of being allowed to be himself with utterly no consequences, it had been addicting.

So he was laid back college model now.

“Wait, so you were one of the models at the show in Tokyo for that new line of traditional inspired—”

“Yes,” Kyoya said, hurrying through his explanation.

“And you spoke with—”

“Yes—”

“Where are these pictures?” Tamaki laughed and Kyoya’s stomach turned in circles. It was worse than butterflies, it was more like bees, buzzing around, persistent, urging him to action, except Kyoya had no idea what he was doing, or if he even wanted to do something in the first place. “You always had such a terrible fashion sense. I knew you could be hotter than me, you’re so _pretty_ , I kept telling you.” Tamaki’s smile was impossibly big, glowing. Kyoya had thought he had buried that melting, heart fluttering feeling that Tamaki’s smile brought, but with the realization that this might be going somewhere, with their arms still linked and Tamaki, warm, soft, pressed to his side…

This was different. When he was with Tamaki all the time, he had built up some kind of weird tolerance, but now all he wanted to do was burry his face in Tamaki’s neck, smell the sweat of his skin, feel the heat from his body, and just hold him until Kyoya’s pride returned.

Really Kyoya should unlink their arms, he usually did by this point, but he couldn’t pull away. He just dragged Tamaki to the car.

Years ago, in high school maybe, Kyoya might have been persuaded to ignore Tamaki with threats of being disowned by his father (unlikely) and never being heir (more likely) but now that Kyoya had a taste of being himself, and revelling in his own success, he realized those had been petty concerns. Or they would be petty now that Kyoya had his own network, his own connections forged with secrets and hard work, and fake smiles.

Tamaki was perfectly obtainable now.

 

 

Scott was waiting, leaning against the hood of the car, smirking.

“ _Comment dit-on un chien, qui es vendu des vitaments_?” Scott asked in broken French.

“ _Qoui_?” Tamaki asked, already beaming, delighted to have someone to speak his native language with.

“ _Un pharma_ chien _.”_

Tamaki’s face froze, and then his smile grew even bigger.

“I have another,” Scott said in English. “ _Comment dit-on chien, qui a doit…les magique?_ Magic.” Scott paused as if he wasn’t sure Tamaki got was he was saying. “He does magic right—”

“ _Un maga_ chien,” Tamaki laughed. Scott deflated, but he was still smiling and Kyoya didn’t know what was going on, but Tamaki was clutching Kyoya, finger tips pressing into his sides, into the bare skin of Kyoya's forearm.

“Let’s go home,” Kyoya said, not staring at Tamaki’s tousled hair, or the way his sweater slid off one exposed shoulder, marred only by freckles.

Thankfully, Kyoya didn’t have to talk to Tamaki any more about being a model, or god forbid, _feelings_. Scott spent the entire time trying to practice his barely used French.

“ _Ton ami est un connard, vraiment.”_

Tamaki laughed.

“ _Non, vraiment, il est terrible. Il est fort, ford?”_

_“Froid?”_

_“_ No not cold, like— _comme fort comme BLAH”_

 _“Ah, fort comme gueulard. Oui, oui. Je veux dire non. Kyoya n’est pas…Kyoya’s n’est pas un object, alors ‘fort’ n’est pas la même chose que ‘guelard’—Et Kyoya n’est pas_ guelard, _de toute façon.”_

 _“Je ne comprend pas guelard, mais,_ whatever. _Il est ton ami, ainsi, tu—vous(?) ne comprend pas c’est il est terrible. Ou tu est, plus que gentile—gentil._ Ummm… _tu ne connais(?) pas parce que tu es très gentil…_ ” Scott was struggling, but Kyoya let him struggle and drive. When they got back, Kyoya would have to show Tamaki the huge, floor to ceiling windows again. Tamaki always loved the view. And then Kyoya would show him the lichen painting thing that he had bought specifically because Tamaki would think it was cool, even though at first Kyoya would pretend he had some real interest in plant based art.

Tamaki’s sweater was still hanging off one shoulder, and Kyoya curled his fingers into a fist on the seat. At least he was in the front and didn’t have to fight the urge to go back and fix it.

Kyoya didn’t look at his collarbone. Tamaki’s jeans weren’t too tight, but were obviously well fitted, but Kyoya didn’t look at that either. All he did was stare at the messy blond mane, trying to figure out how exactly he was supposed to resist it if Tamaki did end up liking Kyoya.

“You should show me your portfolio! From your shoots,” Tamaki said in Japanese, meeting Kyoya’s eye in the side mirror that Kyoya had been using to not stare at him. Tamaki’s whole face was starting to turn red, but he was still beaming, ear to ear, laughter in the corner of his eyes. Kyoya heart thumped in his chest.

Fuck.

“I’d really like to seem them,” Tamaki blinked, but he might as well have batted his eyes lashes because Kyoya’s heart actually _fluttered_.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck.

 

 

 

“What I could really use is a nap,” Tamaki said. Kyoya dropped Tamaki’s luggage by the guest bed and wondered if this would really be a useful place for Tamaki to stay. Tamaki always suggested staying in the same room during sleepovers and Kyoya had a large, sprawling day bed in his bedroom, draped with a silky, rabbit fur blanket that he was going to immediately tell Tamaki was fake.

Tamaki, yawned, and stretched his arms over his head. The light from the window cast his hair in gold, each strand like a thin thread of gilt covered wire, curled deliberately around his head by some unseen artist’s hand. There were paintings in galleries with less care, and Tamaki would have been the centre of attention in any such place, always the most intricate work of art wherever he went.

Kyoya hadn’t spent too much time thinking about Tamaki’s hair before, he’d never allowed himself too, but there was no real reason to look away now. There was no real reason to pretend that Tamaki was only okay, there was no reason to fake distance. Kyoya had always known Tamaki was pretty, but before the thought had been forced miles away. Now it was a closer, imbedded into Kyoya’s thoughts.

“What do you think, should I nap here?” Tamaki took a step towards Kyoya, sitting on the bed and pulling Kyoya with him, towards him, until Kyoya’s weight was pressed against Tamaki.

A stray strand of hair fell in front of Tamaki’s face, but neither made a move to fix it. Before, he might have described Tamaki’s hair as yellow, but it was paler than that, brighter, and glowing in the light. It was rare to see natural blondes in Japan, but it was just as rare to see someone with blue eyes, and Kyoya was never particularly interested in that. Tamaki’s eyes were blue sure, and if he wanted Kyoya could have come up with some silly line about no where else ever being that blue, Kyoya could have waxed about how Tamaki’s eyes were so big, so expressive, but he would be fighting the urge to dragged his fingers through Tamaki’s hair the entire time.

Now that he allowed himself to look, his eyes pulled over Tamaki’s fine cheekbones, his delicate nose, the strong firm bone of his jaw and the pinkness of his lips. He looked like a painting someone had loving rendered of a long dead paramour, too beautiful to continue to exist.

“Should I?” Tamaki asked again. It was a simple request, there was no uneasy, conspirator tone, just a sleepy, pliant Tamaki, clinging to Kyoya. Tamaki’s head fell to Kyoya’s shoulder as he yawned, his fine hair tickling Kyoya’s neck and the skin of his collarbone where his shirt pulled away. Kyoya’s entire shoulder felt like it was on fire.

Kyoya wasn’t used to being touched. He didn’t like it when people moved him, when they felt entitled to his space and thought they deserved a touch at the wrist, a hand on the shoulder. But that wasn’t the same as affection. It wasn’t the same as Tamaki.

“If you sleep now, you’ll never get over the jet lag,” Kyoya said. Tamaki couldn’t sleep here. It would be a manner of manoeuvring to suggest Tamaki stay in Kyoya’s room, but it would be a lot harder to do it if Tamaki slept here. “Take a shower then, you can join Scott and I for a movie after. By the time it’s finished you can just turn in early.”

Tamaki yawned again and Kyoya felt it through his whole body. This was almost intoxicating. He’d been this close to Tamaki before, but not recently. It was more than that though. Every other time had been him pulling in on himself, ignoring what he was feeling, trying to guilt or will whatever reaction he had away. Now, he left himself brush a strand of hair from Tamaki’s face.

His heart was beating too fast, but he knew enough to know it wasn’t arousal or some throat restricting nervousness. This was the thrill of possibility; the possibility of Tamaki, warm and soft, pushed into him; the possibility of lazy days on a silk bedspread, watching the light play with Tamaki’s hair; the possibility of being this close to someone and not having to hide it, or push it away, but being allowed to embrace it.

Kyoya hadn’t known how much he wanted it. He hadn’t known exactly how much he was willing to do to get it. But he knew now.

He’d give almost anything, everything. And that was truly terrifying.


	2. Work of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuzzy feelings and human hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! There are more chapters to come, but I'm really busy with work so who knows how long they'll take. If you want to leave a comment or talk to me in the meantime on my [tumblr ](http://www.stories-n-things.tumblr.com/ask) go ahead! I always love hearing from people.

 

“You need to be honest with yourself man, none of this ‘I suppose there may be a possibility’ BS,” Scott said, stuffing his face with popcorn. Tamaki was taking a shower in Kyoya’s en suite and it wasn’t hard not to think about. It wasn’t that Kyoya really cared about whether or not Tamaki was naked. The thing was though, at some point Tamaki had to step out of the shower, and then he’d come here, to the living room, and plop down on the couch between Kyoya and Scott. Kyoya really needed time to think of a plan, but he had nothing to go on. “Kyoya, man, you know what you want. And if I can figure it out, you’re barely trying to hide it.” Scott stuffed his face with more popcorn, but he was still right. That was good at least. If Scott could figure it out, then it shouldn’t be too hard to tell Tamaki. Unless there was some reason why Tamaki wouldn’t want to date him.

Kyoya drummed his fingers on his thigh. The thing about Scott was that Kyoya hadn’t even wanted to be friends with him. He was annoying and an asshole, but sometimes Kyoya needed other asshole friends. It was hard to feel guilty all the time, thinking you were the worst one of the group. But the other thing about having an asshole friend meant there was no place for honest heart-to-heart talks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kyoya said. Scott scoffed, loudly, and then did so once more, scrunching his face into something ugly and judgemental.

“Liar, liar. You gotta listen to your heart,” Scott thumped his chest hard, then patted it lightly. “Listen to it Kyoya, it calls to you, don’t ignore the heart.”

“I’ve been reliable told I don’t have one.”

Scott only smiled. “Who told you that? You? And if you really don’t have a heart, I bet I know who stole it,” Scott waggled his eyebrows, and winked and then burst out laughing, snorting and doubled over on himself to hold himself up. This was why Kyoya hated talking to Scott. Even when he said something reasonable, it was always so unpleasant.

“Well, I’ll tell your theory about listening to your heart to  _your dear friend_  Markovnikov, then, perhaps, I’ll explain some of the applications to your own predicament.”

“That’s a low blow,”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kyoya rolled his eyes. The sound of the shower was still going. They wouldn’t start the movie until Tamaki came out though, and it was annoying to just sit around and wait. “Besides, you don’t know anything about this.”

“What ‘this’ are we talking about? Lying about yourself? Being very gay? Or dating? Because the middle one, for sure I don’t know but I bet I know more about the other two then you do.”

Kyoya just rolled his eyes again. Scott did make it sound simple. And really the problem wasn’t so hard. He liked Tamaki, Tamaki probably liked him. The solution was obvious wasn’t it? And if they irreparably damaged their friendship then Kyoya would never forgive himself and maybe it was better to let this mutual attraction get in the way, slowly driving them apart until—

“What is Tamaki doing anyway? How long does it take someone to shower? I mean he’s not,” Scott made a loose fist, but Kyoya grabbed his wrist before he did anything with it.

“Probably a lot of bath products,” Kyoya muttered absently, letting his fingers uncurl from Scott’s arm deliberately. Scott nodded and turned away.

Kyoya drew his knees to his chest on the couch, and then moved, so he was sitting by the armrest, leaning back, one leg spread out on the rest of the couch. He pressed the ball of his foot into Scott’s thigh, driving him further away.

“Guess he wants to look good for you,” Scott snorted, then Kyoya unflinchingly slammed the heel of his foot down on Scott’s thigh, smiling when Scott shouted. “What the fuck man?”

“What did you honestly expect I was going to do? Tolerate teasing?”

Scott made a face, still rubbing his thigh. “That hurt like a bitch,”

“So it did,”

Scott _smiled_. “How about you go see what’s taking your _just a platonic friend_ so long in the shower. I’m not going to wait another hour to watch this movie.”

Kyoya _smiled_ right back, but climbed to his feet anyway, heading to his bedroom. The en suite door was open and it was his room so of course Kyoya strolled right in and of course Tamaki was completely naked, in the shower, facing him.

It took a moment for everything to register. Kyoya had outfitted the bathroom in smooth grey stone, marble floors and a walk in shower which had more of a waterfall than a shower head. There was nothing but completely clear glass separating the water, and in this case Tamaki, from everything else.

“What’s taking you so long?” Kyoya asked evenly. There was an odd disconnect here. He might have expected some small part of him to be screaming, but this was just so normal. Tamaki was naked, and it was slightly uncomfortable, but there was no heart pounding, no dry mouth or sweaty palms.

Looking at nudity had always maybe Kyoya slightly uncomfortable or sometimes vaguely disgusted depending on who he was looking at and whether they were female. In some ways it was a relief that this still held true, even for Tamaki. After years of this, Kyoya wasn’t sure he’d even know what to do if he’d had a different reaction.

“I had to leave the conditioner in for a while,” Tamaki blinked, then looked down at himself than back up at Kyoya, as if he too had been expecting some kind of reaction.

“What? I’ve seen you naked before, haven’t I? All those hot spring visits…” Kyoya trailed off and tried not to swallow. “Look, if you’re not going to hurry we might as well just start the movie without you.”

Tamaki stepped immediately out of the shower, his left hand curled by his hip, as if he was considering whether covering himself would be a sign that he didn’t think things were completely professional between them.

Well, platonic at any rate. So far.

Tamaki shook his head and Kyoya watched the water bead at his collar, watched the droplets speed passed the freckles on his shoulder. Tamaki had gotten darker. Before, the freckles had been like specks of brown ink on marble. Now, his back and shoulders were a smattering of light brown on slightly lighter skin.

Tamaki had been working out too. His arms were better defined and he had abs now, just barely. But he wasn’t much larger, wasn’t hulking or beefy, just leaner. Part of Kyoya wanted to just reach out and run a hand over Tamaki’s back experimentally, to spread his hand behind Tamaki’s shoulder blade and feel them as he moved. The curiosity was fleeting though. If he’d been someone else, some harlequin romance novel protagonist, this feelings might have been fiery longing or some sort of passion, but for Kyoya it felt very much like watching surgery, like the time he was ten and had cupped a human heart in his hands.

It had been fascinating, mesmerizing, intimate even, just like this. But it wasn’t erotic.

When he was younger Kyoya had been afraid of that kind of erotic desire, the kind he’d heard the other boys talk about it, but it had been so alien to him, so foreign that it had darkened and twisted something deep down. Whenever people spoke of things like that it had made his heart beat faster sure, but in in fear. His stomach would twist, his throat would catch. He’d thought it was only a matter of time before it hit him too, this ungodly urge that he couldn’t understand. It was only a matter of time before this overpowering force that others seemingly could not control, this insatiable desire, would consume him.

But it never came.

“You’re staring at me,” Tamaki said. He shifted, but tried to hide it, turning away and padding his way over to the sink.

“You have interesting tan lines on your legs, you’ve been playing soccer again?” Kyoya asked. Tamaki’s shoulder’s relaxed and he started on about how he wanted to start being more active and how he’d been jogging a lot with Mori. Kyoya watched Tamaki’s shoulder blades move, and he stared down at Tamaki’s mostly smooth legs.

“You shave your legs?” When had Tamaki started doing that?

“Well, I’ve always had a lot of hair, but it’s really light so you usually couldn’t tell, it’s a lot thicker lately. I wax them sometimes, I was going to do it now but I can wait if you’re in a rush.”

“All right,” Kyoya stepped back and noticed Tamaki’s clothes, now wet, on the floor. Tamaki followed his gaze and sighed. Really, Kyoya should offer to go grab Tamaki’s duffle bag from the spare room. “You can just borrow sometime of mine,” There was a beat. Was that a socially acceptable offer? Kyoya thought of Tamaki in his clothes.

Kyoya’s heart dropped. Tamaki was taller than him, he had some muscles now, but Kyoya’s shoulder’s were broad. The clothes should fit. Maybe, tomorrow, they’d smell like Tamaki. Like his sweat or—maybe they’d still be warm from his body heat—Kyoya’s pulse quickened and he marched out of the bathroom before he said something stupid.

If he hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring earlier, it would be too easy to make mistakes, to give himself away indelicately, or mess up, making Tamaki think he wanted sex or something equally horrid.

Tamaki didn’t call after him, or ask him what was wrong, as if walking in on someone else in the shower and then walking out abruptly was a perfectly normal activity.

Perhaps walking in was a bad idea. It just cemented that they were familiar with each other, but it wasn’t different enough. If Kyoya was going to make his intent clear he’d need to be more obvious.


	3. Prince of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoya fucks up, but it turns out okay?

 

 

 

Kyoya waited for Tamaki right outside his room. Scott was still on the couch in the living room down the hall. He could easily go and join Scott, or he could have gone to get Tamaki’s clothes from the spare room.

Instead, Kyoya looked at his hands avoiding eye contact when Tamaki came out wearing a too long sweater and a pair of Kyoya’s boxer briefs.

“None of your pants fit…” Tamaki paused. “I’ll just, actually I—” Tamaki was struggling for words, and pointing to the spare room. His meaning was clear, if he went to go get pants from the spare room, he might as well completely change, and if he was going to completely change anyway, what was the point of Kyoya offering his clothes.

Kyoya processed this in a manner of seconds. “It’s fine, you don’t have to worry about modesty,” he said loudly. “Scott was just leaving.”

For a moment, Tamaki just stared at him in silence. Then, there was a quiet “what the fuck,” from Scott in the living room, but it wasn’t loud enough for Tamaki to hear.

“Scott,” Kyoya called down the hall. “Weren’t you just saying you had to leave?” Tamaki’s brow furrowed and he pursed his lips. It was clear this entire situation wasn’t making any sense to him, but maybe Tamaki would figure out what Kyoya was trying to do.

Winging it wasn’t so bad, as college Kyoya had figured out. It was easier to just go with the flow sometimes.

“Yeah, my uh,” Scott called back, “Sorry I gotta go, yeah someone called, I gotta go give them my com sci notes, I’ll be back in a few hours, no worries.” There was muttering about in the living room as Scott gathered his things, and then swearing and a scrrrch when Scott bumped into the coffee table. Tamaki and Kyoya said nothing, they didn’t even move as the front door opened and shut with Scott’s departure. Tamaki’s lips were parted, his brows furrowed, but he made no move to speak.

“So, shall we start the movie?” Kyoya smiled faintly and led Tamaki to the living room, sitting in the exact middle of the couch, so that no matter where Tamaki sat, they wouldn’t be far. Tamaki merely shrugged and sat on the floor, his fingers playing at the hem of the sweater, like he couldn’t decide if it was too short.

“It’s fine if you want the couch to yourself, but could you pass me a blanket?” Tamaki said, yawning.

 Okay, so that plan hadn’t worked.

Kyoya chucked a blanket from the back of the couch at him and sank into the sofa. He wasn’t sulking, not like Tamaki, but he might as well have been.

This wasn’t working. And more importantly now Tamaki was starting to act weird too. Wouldn’t he have usually shoved Kyoya over by this point? Or pouted? If he really wanted the couch there was always the puppy dog eyes. Kyoya was notoriously weak to the puppy dog eyes.

Rolling his eyes, Kyoya hit play on the movie, but Tamaki didn’t say anything as the trailers rolled by. No “we have to see this!” or “ooooh, who’s _that_?”  there was just silence. Tamaki legs were splayed out in front of him, but he wasn’t leaning back with easy grace, head dipping onto the sofa like usual. He wasn’t smiling up at Kyoya, he wasn’t snickering, or even sleeping.

“This is weird,” Kyoya said, drawing one leg up to his chest, lounging back into the arm of the couch, allowing enough space for Tamaki to sit.

“Well we haven’t seen each other in a while.” Tamaki shrugged. “And apparently, you’re a model, and you’ve had this whole other side of you I didn’t notice.”

“Are you really sulking about _that_?”

Tamaki shrugged again but the back of his neck and the tips of his ears were turning red. Kyoya exhaled loudly and rubbed the bridge of his nose. At least this was something he could work with.

“It’s honestly not a big deal,”

“It’s just, I picked out countless outfits for you and you never wore them!”

“I wore them all the time—”

“I mean not for club stuff! But for regular stuff, I was the one who even told you that you’d look good in leather…jackets. And you didn’t listen to me but now it’s…” Tamaki waved his hand in the air, gesturing as he spoke even while they weren’t facing each other. “I just don’t know why you didn’t tell me.”

“You were doing your own thing, you had Haruhi—”

“Is this about Haruhi? Were you jealous—”

“I’m not interested in Haruhi, how many times do I have to say that?” Kyoya snapped, then winced. He couldn’t let this get to him. He just didn’t want to think of Haruhi, to think that he should just let her have Tamaki.

 “That’s besides the point, you know I hate being told what to do.” Kyoya gripped the bridge of his nose. Tamaki’s shoulders were slumped, just a midge, and something turned unpleasantly in Kyoya’s stomach. This was such a stupid fight to have. “Why are you so obsessed with dressing up your crushes anyway? Isn’t that the weird thing?” Kyoya scoffed, falling back into old bickering.

There was a beat where Tamaki froze and Kyoya didn’t know why. But of course, it was obvious. Kyoya’d just admitted he knew Tamaki liked him. _And_ had done so in a derisive manner. Perfect.

Tamaki was now rose red, his own legs folded up to his chest, knees inside Kyoya’s sweater.

“I didn’t mean—it’s not a bad thing—”

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

 “I didn’t think you knew…” Tamaki trailed off. Kyoya’s gut somersaulted, his mind racing.

High school Kyoya, who had over prepared for every conceivable outcome weeks in advance, wouldn’t have made this mistake.

Maybe he should have been more prepared. He should have at least given himself a few days to think instead of rushing in. He should have ignored Scott, stared the movie without Tamaki and then just not brought any of this up or acted weird.

 “I…” Think.

 God dammit Kyoya was in _Harvard,_ he should be able to think. “I didn’t, until yesterday.” The truth? Kyoya was going with the truth now?

No wonder Tamaki was concerned, if Kyoya was this out of it that his kneejerk reaction was honesty—no. He had to be in control. Kyoya was just more nervous than he’d thought. He’d been downplaying his feelings for Tamaki for a long time, discounting every conflicting response.

He was just overwhelmed right now. It probably didn’t help that he’d been ignoring his reservations about asking Tamaki out. They’d been drifting apart because of distance and Kyoya might have told himself it was fine, but he’d never believed that. Kyoya had missed parties and events and had almost been late to Tamaki’s last birthday party and it was all right to be anxious about that. The important part was to know his feelings and be in control now.

Kyoya looked at Tamaki, who had turned around to face him, if only slightly. Kyoya waited, he waited for the moment for everything to click into place in Tamaki’s head, he waited for Tamaki to see what was really going on with Kyoya and understand. But no flash of inspiration caught Tamaki’s face, and instead, he looked at Kyoya much as he had before.

Kyoya’s heart beat loudly in his ears, but he waited a bit more, because this was still T _amaki_ and for all their distance Tamaki was still the one who could read him best, and he always understood Kyoya. Or, he had.

Were things worse than Kyoya had thought? They were still best friends right?

“Kyoya,” Tamaki said, almost in a whisper. Kyoya couldn’t read him either. He couldn’t figure out what Tamaki wanted.

Was this who they were to each other now?

But, Tamaki had been good at reading him even when they’d just met. Were they worse than that now? Was the distance just going to grow and grow until they were nothing, not even friends at all, just people who had once been close?

Who would Kyoya have then? Scott?

“Kyoya,” Tamaki said, more insistently.

“I’m just thinking, I…whatever you think I’m saying—”

“Look it’s fine Kyoya, it really doesn’t matter—”

“If you would just give me a second to _think_ ,” Kyoya snapped. Tamaki raised his eyebrows, and pursed his lips. But he didn’t cross his arms or throw himself against anything. He wasn’t sulking he was—Kyoya didn’t know.

But he would know. Things weren’t going to spiral out between them. Kyoya was in control, and he would have a plan. There were plenty of other reasons why Tamaki was being weird, and hadn’t asked him out over the years. And these reasons could be hurtful, crushing, so painful that even voicing them out loud would irreparably damage their relationship.

 _Or_ they could be trivial reasons. They could be something Kyoya could control or fix in some way.

But, what if it was sex? What if Tamaki knew Kyoya wasn’t interest in that and that was why—

Or maybe, Tamaki would think Kyoya didn’t want to date him, that he was too scared—

Maybe Tamaki still wasn’t over Haruhi, maybe Kyoya was just a rebound, or if he wasn’t maybe Tamaki was giving it time so in case Kyoya would just _think_ that. Maybe none of this was true at all, maybe Tamaki was searching for Kyoya’s own reasons for not asking him out.

 Maybe they were both going in circles, grasping at straws trying to understand the situation, resenting the other for not acting sooner, for holding back.

Then of course, they only saw each other a half dozen times a year now. Even if they got passed this, how long would it be until they drifted apart?

Tamaki sighed and turned away and all Kyoya wanted was to freeze everything in place, to stop Tamaki from reacting so Kyoya could _think._

 Kyoya’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. He wiped his palms on the arm rest but the silence had already gone out too long. He had broken something and he had to fix it, but while Tamaki was a prince of love, Kyoya was a prince of blood, and not well versed in any kind of honest communication.

 “Do you want to go out with me?” Kyoya stumbled over the words. Tamaki’s head whipped around, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Kyoya opened his mouth, but swallowed instead. He needed a glass of water, and probably something to wipe the sweat off the back of his neck.

Even as he moved his hand to adjust his glasses he knew the gesture was too indifferent for what had just happened. Playing nonchalant was a stupid thing to do right now. It made no sense. But the alternative was to admit how much he liked Tamaki, how much he wanted to keep him close, figuratively and literally. The alternative was being open and honest and talk about how much he needed someone in his life who was constant and would love him. Kyoya may have been more relaxed now but he wasn’t quite _there_ yet.

“We could go out to the museum, if you wanted,” Kyoya shrugged. Tamaki’s mouth formed words, but he stayed silent.

“What?” Kyoya asked.

“I don’t understand,”

“That’s hardly…” the words died on his lips. _That’s hardly my fault_ was what he usually said when Tamaki didn’t understand something, but this time it was Kyoya’s fault. “What part don’t you understand?”

“Are you mocking me?” The colour drained from Tamaki’s face, but his nostrils flared and his hands folded in front of him, into neat little fists. This time Kyoya flinched.

Tamaki was angry.

Why? Why was this happening?

Who would have predicted _anger_? Kyoya tried to go over the steps in his head, but he couldn’t connect the dots.

 Really Kyoya wanted to just find somewhere small and enclosed and crawl in there to weather this embarrassment out. But Kyoya was an Ootori, and Ootori’s never backed down from a challenge, from a fight or anything else. They were strong in what they did and committed to what they said.

“Are you stupid?” Kyoya shot back, harsher than he meant. “I just asked you out, why would _I_ of all people ever do that as a joke?”

“It’s because I don’t know _why_ you would, that I thought it was a joke…” Tamaki trailed off, but the anger seemed to slip away too, replaced with something else, something Kyoya couldn’t name. Kyoya swallowed again.

“If you don’t want to date, that’s fine. But it’s been a year since you and Haruhi broke up that’s plenty of time—”

“That’s not what I’m concerned about—”

“And I don’t understand why…” Kyoya ran a hand through his hair, too fast, his finger nails digging into his scalp. “You clearly like me, you’ve had a long time to ask me out if you were going to, and you didn’t, so whatever reasons you have for not wanting me—”

“Kyoya—”

“You can just tell me why instead of being ridiculous and insisting that I’m mocking you, when I’ve…” Kyoya clenched his fist, drawing his leg closer to his chest. “When I would _never…_ ”

 Tamaki unfurled himself and climbed onto the couch, sitting opposite Kyoya almost kneeling.

Kyoya had always thought he’d been painfully obvious about his feelings for Tamaki. Always catering to his whim, letting lingering touches and hand holding in public which was ridiculous because friends in Japan didn’t hold hands unless they were five and afraid of getting lost on a field trip. Kyoya let Tamaki massage his back, leaning into him whenever he could, hating himself a little every time, but never doing anything different.

He was always looking at Tamaki, always stopping himself from fixing Tamaki’s hair, always restraining himself whenever Tamaki fixed his.  Haruhi must have known, there was no way she didn’t, not by the way she looked at him when Kyoya tried to set them up together, not by the way she talked about Tamaki when they were alone. And if Haruhi could see through Kyoya, then Tamaki must have known. He must have, and that meant that what, that there was something so undesirable about Kyoya that Tamaki couldn’t bring himself to even consider them together?

This was ridiculous. Kyoya was breathing too fast and what he needed to do was slap himself and get his shit together, but Tamaki was still looking at him, still demanding an explanation.

What was Kyoya going to say? “You can just tell me why you don’t want me instead of being ridiculous and insisting that I’m mocking you, when I’ve been desperately in love with you this entire time and you’ve been just there enough to prolong my hopeless devotion to you. I can hardly imagine my life without you but you keep slipping through my fingers and soon I’ll just be alone again, and sure, I’ll be able to make new friends now but they’ll never be you, they’ll never be as good?”

Tamaki eyes dropped to Kyoya’s fists, and Kyoya exerted all his effort to keep his hands steady.

He was fucking this up.

“You haven’t ever given _any_ sign that you did more than tolerate my interest in you,” Tamaki said evenly. “You even shove me off sometimes, for something you’d been fine with yesterday. You never really seemed to be interested in women, but you were never interested in any guys either and what was I supposed to think? And then suddenly you just…” Tamaki rubbed at his face, his fingers still slender, but not delicate like Kyoya’s hands. Kyoya’s hands were unused to work, but Tamaki’s fingers had grown stronger.

Kyoya had been working out too. Jogging and cardio if not weight lifting, but he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some guy smaller than Tamaki, delicate, emotional. He needed to be the bigger man here.

“Let’s start over,” Tamaki said, sighing. Kyoya didn’t want to start over. He was just going to mess it up again, but then he wouldn’t even have the momentum to keep going like he did now.

“Are you in love with me?” Kyoya asked. He leaned back and dropped his arms from around his leg. He couldn’t appear defensive. Tamaki was just starting at him, eyes dragging across his face. But it was different. Before Tamaki had been ruthlessly efficient, dissecting and sniffing out any of Kyoya’s secrets. Now he was pausing, as if the landscape of Kyoya’s face was unfamiliar to him.

Kyoya hated it.

“I have been in love with you for years,” Tamaki shifted so he was sitting properly on the couch, body facing the TV. He gripped Kyoya’s free ankle, draping one of Kyoya’s legs over his lap. He started to knead at Kyoya’s foot absently and Kyoya’s shoulder’s untensed, his stomach untwisted. Something light flipped in the bottom of his gut. His heart started to slow.  Things were going to be okay.

 _Likewise_. Kyoya should say _likewise_.

He said nothing. Because Tamaki’s hands were just a little too hard on his feet, and his eyes were too focused down. Tamaki was trying to appear calm, but what did he really want?

Kyoya opened his mouth, trying to force something out but for one heart stopping moment nothing came. What if he couldn’t do this?

“Are you in love with me?” Tamaki asked.

“Inherently,” Kyoya said. He’d meant maybe adherently or abhorrently, something he half remembered from a movie. He cleared his throat, attempted to cover the mistake. “So, will you? Go on a date with me?”

Tamaki considered the question for a long time.

“And then what?”

“Excuse me?”

“If we go on a date, what happens next?”

“More dates,”

“Well,” Tamaki rolled his eyes and slapped his palm against Kyoya’s shin. “I mean after all that. We go on one date and what happens ten years form now? What happens when we’re old and families pressuring us to get married and have kids?” His voice was heavy and it was so not Tamaki. Kyoya hated it. He hated whatever had put it there. Except he was the one who had done it, and really he just hated himself.

“You think I only want some temporary fling? Or—or what?  You don’t trust me? You don’t trust that I’ll…” Kyoya bit the inside of his cheek. He deserved this, on some level. He wasn’t known for standing up against peer pressure, doing what he wanted, or allowing himself to be something others wouldn’t like.

Kyoya pictured the sequence of events for himself. Start to date Tamaki, then ten years later.

Ten years from now Kyoya would be looking at their stock portfolio, thinking about how to merge their companies. Tamaki’s mom’s company was in pharmaceuticals so that would be easy, but hotels? Completely different, Kyoya didn’t now anything about hotels, and he hated not knowing. The first bridge would be medical recovery suites. Health spas. Some kind of middle ground. Then Kyoya would probably be listening to Tamaki’s complaints, going over the company files himself, trying to learn. They’d already have been married. If not in Japan than in France, with a wedding so opulent and extravagant that people would have no doubt the faith they had in their success.

They’d be considering children maybe? Kyoya wasn’t sure. He hadn’t though much about it.

Kyoya thought about saying that. But it was too raw, too much for a first date.

Kyoya thought about saying “Ten years from now we’ll be exactly where we want to be,” but it didn’t feel right. That wasn’t what Tamaki was asking. For a horrifying minute, Kyoya wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to answer the question.

“Together.”

Tamaki blinked and Kyoya thought over his answer carefully. Ten years from now they’d be…together? Maybe that was the wrong thing to say too.

 Damn it.

 “Kyoya…” Tamaki’s hands were still warm on Kyoya’s feet, still tingly and fuzzy where he held onto them. Kyoya had never had much physical contact growing up, he didn’t like to be touched. Or he’d thought that way. What he really didn’t like was people who thought they were entitled to his space, like they thought they had some right to. He didn’t mind his sister’s hugs, or when his father had used to ruffle his hair. But that had been a long time ago. Now, anytime someone tried to show him physical affection him now, it was so warm, but also so strange.

It was always obvious he wasn’t used to it, wasn’t really sure what to do. He was so awkward.

Kyoya had used to pretend it didn’t bother him, the awkwardness, but there was no point lying now.

“I don’t know what you want me to say…” Kyoya watched Tamaki’s face, expecting it to fall, to look disappointed, but it didn’t do much of anything. “What does ‘abhorrently’ mean again?”

“Terrible. Or disgusting.”

“Ah…”

“Was that what you were trying to say before? Inherently—”

“No it’s from a movie, listen that’s not the point—”

“Pride and Prejudice is a book…”

Kyoya paused. Tamaki was smirking at him, if only slightly. “Look,” Kyoya said. “The point is I think we should date. It’s logical. I like you, you like me, anything else is just going to eat away at the two of us until it grows into resentment and we drifted apart. But I don’t…I _enjoy_ spending time with you. I don’t tolerate you. Look, I don’t understand why this is difficult, can’t we just…” Kyoya’s voice almost broke but he stopped it.

Why was he so nervous?

He made a hand gesture, palm open, waving. He repeated it, staring at Tamaki, looking for something.

Tamaki bit his lip thoughtfully, but didn’t speak.

“Don’t you trust me?” Kyoya aimed for smooth, but his voice was just a little too high, a little too wavering. Tamaki’s face broke, his mouth coming apart, his eyes wide, like Kyoya had stared to cry.

Was it _pity?_

Tamaki leaned forward and clasped Kyoya’s hands in his, his thumb making small circles on Kyoya’s wrists. The heat travelled up Kyoya’s arms.

“Of course I trust you, it’s just, I just feel that if you had been interested in me, I would have seen it, and it’s hard to believe that’s not the case,” Tamaki smiled. “But maybe I’m just being arrogant. I didn’t notice Haruhi liked me, after all…” Tamaki’s eyes were far away. “We can go out tomorrow then. Wherever you want,” Kyoya’s heart leapt in his chest. He waited for some catch, something gotcha moment where Tamaki would withdraw.

“And a second date?” Kyoya was aiming at playful, but he’d never been very good at that. Tamaki merely grasped Kyoya’s hand tighter.

“We’ll see about a first date, and see how that goes…”

There was something off in Tamaki’s eyes. Kyoya didn’t understand, did Tamaki really not want a second date? Did he have doubts about their relationship, or was this simply a matter of Tamaki not being able to see them together.

Whatever the difficultly, Kyoya would prove him wrong. They would have the best first date imaginable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So my computer broke and I had to get another one but I backed up some but not all of my files, including this one but because I don't want to rewrite others stories this one will get priority! Yay!
> 
> Also I am dead serious, come talk to me, where or on [my tumblr](http://www.stories-n-things.tumblr.com/as), any time any place. What was your favourite line? What part was confusing? Good imagery? Bad imagery? Suggestions for clothes for Kyoya to wear? Knowledge about modeling? Doesn't matter, let me know. If you have a terrible pun in French and want me to add it in to chapter one or you have theories about where this story is going, hit me up.


	4. Hitmen and Long Red Coats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoya gets ready

****

Kyoya had been staring at the same two coats for almost an hour. It was ridiculous. It was the kind of frivolous, nonsensical, time wasting he would have chided anyone, especially Tamaki, for even _considering_.

And yet, there were still two coats and Kyoya couldn’t decide.

There was no way Kyoya was going to be able to go on this date. It was simply impossible.

They were supposed to meet at the museum, a place Kyoya was familiar with. The museum was a place where Kyoya could relax, where he wouldn’t be on guard about people looking at them, but wasn’t somewhere so private that Tamaki would think he was ashamed. It was somewhere cultured, which they both were, but not someone fancy, which Tamaki might take to be posturing. It was the perfect spot, and Kyoya had been proud when he’d thought of it. And then everything had gone down hill from there.

It had already taken Kyoya too long to get ready and he had given himself an extra two hours to get dressed. First he’d spent too much time on his hair, washing it just before now in a fit of uncertainty. Then he’d shaved, basically everywhere, not because he really thought it was necessary but because once he’d started it had been hard to stop and his hands had needed something to do.

Really, he should have stopped there, but he’d spotted the hand cream Tamaki had bought for him, and that had led to using the foot cream Tamaki had bought and then _that_ ended up with Kyoya trying out basically every bath product Tamaki had given him over the last two years which, before now, had been securely ignored in the bottom drawer under the sink.

Kyoya groaned just remembering it. He leant his forehead against the cool, mirrored closet door trying to pinpoint the exact moment where he had really sunk so low.

After the shower he’d marched right to his closest, opened it, and proceeded to do exactly _nothing_. Before, in Japan, it had been easy. He had simply worn his uniform in school and outside had given his clothes no thought. He’d pick any shirt, or any pants, or maybe some sweater if it was cold. And sure he had looked awful, but who really cared?

Club activities were the only time someone important ever saw him and he’d always been dressed nicely for them, though that was because Tamaki had decided what everyone would wear. Decisions hadn’t really been a big deal, and so, now Kyoya realized that he wasn’t quite sure how to make them.

Now, after modeling, people just gave him all sorts of clothes. Some of it was stuff he’d worn, and now that he was the face of new line of jackets, there had been more and more things he’d shoved into his closet. They were all tailored to fit him, not just the tailcoats and slacks, but the T-shirts and turtlenecks and fur lined gloves were all altered to fit him perfectly. In theory, he could just grab anything and look good in it. But there was just so _much._

Where before Kyoya had had a suits, formal traditional clothes, and various leftover pieces from the host club, now he had anything from white silk suspenders, and black tie clothing, to dozens of intricately patterned informal yutaka, to ripped skinny jeans.

Then there were the asymmetric blazers, the frilly, too tight suit jackets , the pastel suit cardigans, not to mention the black leather jackets that were mostly angles, black leather jackets that were mostly buckles, black leather jackets that made him look like he had just stepped out of a militaristic dystopian novel, black leather jackets that made it look like he stepped out of a tattered post apocalyptic novel and—really he had too many black leather jackets.

There were at least fifteen of them, and then the motorcycle jackets for the motorcycles he didn’t drive, the velvets jackets in colours too garish to consider, the jackets so short they didn’t reach past his ribs and the jackets that looked like they should belong to eighteenth century French nobleman.

And then there were the boots, god the boots. Thigh high boots in shiny black, velvety boots with silver and gold embroidery, the combat boots, the regular brown ankle boots with high, thick heels, the knee high floppy leather boots that made him look like a pirate—there were just too many goddamn options and he hadn’t even considered pants or shirts.

Usually Kyoya didn’t even wear any of them. He wore some T-shirt, one of the leather jackets, jeans, and the high top Converse that Tamaki’s little cousin had gotten him once. On special occasions there was a mood Kyoya was hoping to set, an image of himself he was creating to present to someone. It was easy, for a formal occasion to know when to break out the white silk vest and when to break out the black kimono. It wasn’t hard.

But now, Kyoya wasn’t trying to present an image, he was just trying to be _himself._ So he’d thrown on a band shirt, and some ripped jeans that, for some reason, had always got him complements. And then he’d changed into a suit. And then into a ruffle front dress shirt and skinny jeans, and then into a sweater over a button up and then, and then, and then. It had all spiralled from there.

That was the moment things had fallen apart. Even when Kyoya had grabbed random black pieces of clothing (a turtleneck, pants that were not exactly leather, not exactly jeans but _tight_ and black socks) there’d been no confidence, no satisfaction at overcoming the challenge.

All these stupid clothes!

 Kyoya hated it.

He hated that there were so many and he hated the very idea that he cared what he looked like, but dammit he did care because this wasn’t going to library this was _Tamaki_. And maybe they’d hung out before, but Tamaki was always saying he was a terrible dresser, and maybe this once Kyoya wanted to prove him wrong.

So then he’d been starting at about fourteen different jackets, given up, gone to the get a coat and then had been oscillating behind the long red one with brass buttons (which he knew Tamaki liked, and which Tamaki had also given to him) and the black double breasted coat with the silver trim that Scott said made him look like a high class assassin.

Kyoya was going to scream. Who cared this much about clothes? He certainly hadn’t? When had he gotten so involved in this?

“You okay?” Scott asked. Kyoya was still in the little foyer area by the closet, staring at the coats. He hadn’t even started on the shoes. Kyoya groaned. Fuck this. Fuck all of this honestly. “If this is about your date you should go with the red one.”

“Why?” Kyoya squinted at the coats.

“Because you really like the red coat, you wear it basically everywhere you can. And why the fuck would you want to look like a hit man on your date? Is it a security thing? Because you only wear that coat when you want to look intimidating or when it’s really cold.”

Kyoya looked at Scott, open mouthed. Scott was right.

Scott was often right, but this time in particular was absolutely astounding, because Scott had made the whole thing sound so simple and it only drove the knife into Kyoya’s gut.

Kyoya had no idea what he was doing.  If Scott could so easily parse this, then Kyoya really, utterly, did not have a clue about how to do this. He was lost. Worse than lost even.

He couldn’t go on this date. He should have known it before. He’d been deluding himself, surely.

Yesterday, he’d looked some things up on the Internet, but they’d been unhelpful. There were a million different variables, the clothes, each piece of clothing independently, what he said, what he didn’t say, what he did, what Tamaki said/did/didn’t say/how he dressed, and each of those things individually had more questions too. He felt like he needed a course on Diffusion Theory just to figure out what was going on. There was so much guesswork. Kyoya hated guesswork and rather than decided anything based on gut feelings and limited data he had…procrastinated.

And now, Kyoya was without a game plan and he was breathing too fast and he couldn’t even figure out what stupid coat to wear.

He was going to fuck up his date with Tamaki. He couldn’t do this.

He could _not_ do this.

Kyoya sank to the floor, straight faced, heart thumping in his chest. No wondering Tamaki had been so hesitant to agree to a second date. Even if he was in love with him, even Tamaki knew that Kyoya was hopeless. And they were never going to work together and Kyoya hadn’t gotten more worldly or knowledgeable in college he’d only really learned not to give a shit, and this was one of those times where that was the wrong attitude and why was Kyoya only figuring this out now? Why was he slipping and losing his hold on things he’d cared so much about?

But Kyoya could get better, Kyoya was never one to stagnate and dating was just a skill like any other and Kyoya could _learn_.

But he couldn’t learn how to be a good date in the next forty minutes and for the first time in years Kyoya wanted to cry. He didn’t cry, _wouldn’t_ cry. Yet, he could have, if he’d wanted to, his throat already feeling light, his eyes prickling and his body tensing and relaxing like it expected him to start sobbing.

Why had he even asked Tamaki out? Because he’d been afraid of losing him? Was Kyoya still a little kid who made decisions out of fear? Who held onto things until they broke because he couldn’t stand the thought of letting them go?

Kyoya lay down on the floor, cheek against the cold, hard wood floor. This was going to be even worse in public.

“I’m going to fail,” Kyoya said quietly.

In front of anyone else, Haruhi, or Kaoru, there was a certain level of vulnerability that would come with these words, but Scott was a commoner, notorious for his over exaggerations, for screaming “I’m dying” over messing up the most inconsequential of tasks. Even if this would reveal more of himself than he would have liked it would be easier to laugh it off later.

“Maybe you should call Haruhi,” Scott shrugged. “Find out what Tamaki’s like on a date, maybe he sucks just as much as you? I have to go to class now, but call me if you need anything, all right? You okay?”

Kyoya nodded from the ground and Scott left.

Kyoya punched in Haruhi’s number immediately but didn’t press call. Was this who he was now?

Kyoya considered it.

He considered the failure. He considered Haruhi and her complicated relationship with Tamaki. She wouldn’t even know Kyoya and Tamaki were going out. Was Kyoya going to tell her.

He stared at the phone number. It was tempting. It was tempting to call her, to admit to himself that he couldn’t solve this and run away. He couldn’t take his eyes away from Haruhi’s contact name.

Kyoya took a deep breath. He knew who he was.

He allowed himself exactly fifteen minutes of self pity before he picked himself up, put on his coat, and the ankle boots and left.

Kyoya was better than this, freaking out like this. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen and there was nothing that could change things in the next half an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So, there's a lot of talk about clothes here, because I did decide to make Kyoya a model here, if it's too much or something, let me know!


	5. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE DATE

 

 

Kyoya took a cab to the museum and tried to reassure himself, that even if he didn’t know how to date Tamaki, how to make things different enough and romantic enough to make it special, he could always fall back on a friendly hanging out.

That kind of rhetoric was almost convincing too, until he’d gotten out of the cab and actually _saw_ Tamaki. Kyoya’s heart stopped and his gut turned into nothing. Tamaki smiled, hair rustling in the wind, the corners of his eyes soft with laughter, his mouth turned up, his lips—no it was his hair that were the best really.

“Hey,” Tamaki grinned, and bounced from the balls of his feet to the heels, back and forth as he waited for Kyoya to get into hugging distance. “You must really like that coat,” Tamaki said, before he threw his arms around Kyoya’s neck. His hair smelt strongly of shampoo and it was soft were it tickled the side of Kyoya’s face.

What was he supposed to do with his arms again? Kyoya tentatively placed his hands on Tamaki’s waist, resisting the urge to look around. They were in Boston, no one had any idea who he was and they were just hugging.

“What do you mean? About the coat…” Kyoya voice was muffled by Tamaki’s shoulder. But then Tamaki drew back, still beaming.  Tamaki just shrugged, pulling completely away too soon and headed for the museum door.

“Well, I gave that to you years ago, and the elbows are a little worn, and there’s a small ketchup stain at the end and I know you do your dry cleaning at least once a week so you obvious still wear an old coat I gave you frequently…” Tamaki turned and linked his arm through Kyoya’s. “So it’s not unreasonable to think you might like it.” He winked.

“Who’s going to pay for the tickets?” Kyoya asked instead. “Either of us could afford it, but since this is a date I might as well—”

Tamaki unclasped his arm from Kyoya’s and dug in his pocket withdrawing a pair of tickets and brandishing them in Kyoya’s face.

“Anyway, you look _nice_. I like your outfit.”

 Kyoya merely rolled his eyes. He waited for Tamaki to say anything, to start going on about something else. Instead, Tamaki hip cheeked him, if only slightly and grinned, pulling Kyoya inside the museum.

 They navigated through the building, but Kyoya was only focused on the space between them. Once Tamaki had unlinked their arms, they had stood unlinked. They passed through the foyer, the guards, and into the museum proper, but instead of initiating physical contact Tamaki picked up a map.

They didn’t need a map. Kyoya had been here dozens of times before, he knew the layout. He had told Tamaki this already.

“Where do you want to go first?” Kyoya asked, hands in his pockets. It should be easy to just go and take Tamaki’s hand, but instead he clenched his fists inside his pockets, and looked around nonchalantly.

The entrance atrium was massive, airy, spotted only with couches. All the ceilings here towered above people, as if trying to give them a sense of space, even when the place was packed.

Everything was so far apart too. The glass cabinets of artefacts were perfectly interspersed to allow for standing room, walking room and all the seating, from the squishy leather couches to the chairs that looked more like polyhedrons.

“What’s your favourite exhibit? There had to be a reason you come here so often.”

“It’s free for college students on Wednesdays,” Kyoya shrugged. Tamaki was looking at him, one corner of his mouth turned up, but not quite smiling. Kyoya shifted. “I could afford to come here more often of course, but that would still require making a cost benefit analysis of whether or not it’s worth it for whatever new information I was gleaming. If it’s free, it’s free.” Tamaki only nodded, smirking.

“So what exhibit is best?”

“Well they have a pretty extensive Greek and Roman exhibit and the special exhibit this month is on South American art…the biodiversity section is interesting. They have a bat cave.” Kyoya was staring right at Tamaki. Kyoya was always a face of masks, carefully constructed personalities to please people. Tamaki used to be able to see through them, he used to be able to see the cracks of real Kyoya underneath. But no matter how much Kyoya wanted him to just _come here_ Tamaki stood a few feet away thinking, blind to anything going on beneath the surface.

“There’s lots of Greek and Roman stuff at the _Louvre_ so maybe we can see the special exhibit…” Tamaki bit his lip. He wasn’t looking at Kyoya, and he wasn’t making jokes or acting silly but he wasn’t being himself either. He was being reserved and something turned in Kyoya’s stomach just to see it. He was holing back like he still did with his Grandmother, letting enough personality through to put people at ease, but not enough to be himself. “They have a Japanese exhibit, do you want to see it? Kyoya? I like to see what other places think of me.”

Kyoya shrugged, he knew where the exhibit was and headed for it wordlessly, trying not to seethe. Maybe he was reading too much into this. Tamaki tucked the map back in his jacket.

It was too cold in here, sometimes it was pleasantly warm but right now it felt like there was a draft. Kyoya had nothing to warm him, no too close companion pressing up against him.

 And there wasn’t anyone here this time of day either, just a few straggling students. It was the middle of a Tuesday and while Kyoya didn’t have class, he figured most other people would.

Usually there was a hum of conversation. In the museum or with Tamaki. But now it was too quiet and Kyoya was practically alone.

 

 

 

To get to the Japanese exhibit they had to pass by the Korean and Chinese ones.

“I guess Vietnam or the Philippines wasn’t that important,” Tamaki muttered under his breath. Kyoya, had been in Boson long enough to understand that he, who had always been apart of the dominant culture of Japan, and Tamaki, who had grown up as the minority in France, experienced being Japanese very differently, and so Kyoya said nothing.

 Tamaki kept stopping to read all the inscriptions and while some of the pieces were interesting, Kyoya had also seen them a hundred times before, and he could figure out what most of them were anyway. That one was a men’s hairpin, that one a lacquered chest, the other was a carefully done relief painting. Kyoya waited patiently, talking to fill the void.

“Well there’s no French or English exhibit. Just ‘European weaponry’ and ‘Renaissance medieval art’ on the third floor,” Kyoya said. “I’ve also never seen any Eastern European exhibits either. Maybe Russia, but nothing about Estonia or Denmark.” Tamaki hummed a response, before something else caught his eye and then he was dashing to the other side of the exhibit. The darting around was not new for Tamaki. The leaving Kyoya behind _was_.

Kyoya didn’t like it.

“Look at that,” Tamaki said, not turning back, not pulling Kyoya to see it. Kyoya strolled over, but by the time they were within any appreciable distance, Tamaki had sped off.

“Look at _this_ ,”

On and on, his face lighting up and focusing as he spotted his next piece of interest. It wasn’t exactly like old times, Tamaki was dancing around, but he wasn’t falling to ground, there was no audience for him to play up. It was so similar and so different all at once.

And it wasn’t a bad date either. Kyoya hadn’t put his foot in his mouth, nothing was on fire, but it was…hollow. It seemed more like the pretense of a date than anything real.

Tamaki insisted he see both of these exhibits first though, before they got to the Japanese one. So they saw everything and Kyoya couldn’t seem to get anywhere near him. Eventually, Tamaki had seen every piece of the Korean and Chinese exhibit and they headed past them.

Tamaki’s hands dangled by his thigh as Kyoya found the exhibit. It wasn’t particularly impressive, just a palanquin, some suits of armour, a tea room recreation and various mixed quality vases.

At least there wasn’t any overt racism, and the exhibit didn’t misrepresent anything or pretend to be thorough. Tamaki marched straight to the palanquin, reading the little plaques that accompanied all the pieces. One hand was pressed against the glass, which wasn’t allowed, and the other hand was curled by his side and Kyoya could just reach out and take it.

It would be easy.

Kyoya took a step forward, so they were side by side, and removed his own hand from his pocket. This wasn’t Japan, where public handholding might be a little much, and they were practically alone. Kyoya’s fingers twitched.

Was he too afraid to even do something so banal? What was he, some middle school girl?

Kyoya took Tamaki’s hand. Or really he grabbed Tamaki’s fingers, threading them with his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Kyoya expected to see Tamaki smile, but instead he didn’t react. Tamaki had once giggled when Haruhi’s hand had merely brushed his.

Now Tamaki was stone faced, reading.  He didn’t withdraw his hand, nor did he wrap his fingers around Kyoya’s. Tamaki was carefully doing nothing.

It was—Kyoya couldn’t describe it. It was like all the years between them had been erased, it was like they were strangers.

“Do you not want to be here?” Kyoya asked. This didn’t make any sense. “I am being serious, do you not want to be here? Don’t feel pressured to date me, especially if it’s out of some misplaced pity,” Kyoya dropped Tamaki’s hand and crossed his arms.

“That’s not it,” Tamaki sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I just…”

“What? I don’t understand this, I—am I doing something wrong? It’s not like have a lot of experience in this area…” Kyoya shifted, tempted to look away.

“No, it’s…” Tamaki rubbed his wrist. Kyoya searched his face but he’d never been great at reading Tamaki. Tamaki’s masks were too subtle, too complete. Tamaki had been born with a mask. Not like Kyoya. Tamaki had been born with a sick mother and everyone trying to pretend it was okay, and Tamaki, trying to pretend he was happy, and quiet, and the best child anyone could ask for. Tamaki was born pretending he didn’t hate his father for leaving, that he just wanted to be a family. Tamaki had so many masks, so many layers that Kyoya was sure some part of him really believed them.

Kyoya had learned to be better than he was. He had learned that who he was wasn’t good enough but he had learned it too late to be anyone else. He would never be as good an actor as Tamaki.

 Kyoya’s heart started to pound, but he willed it down. He had to be careful, if he got to defensive he could ruin things.

“Look, Tamaki, just tell me what you’re thinking I’m not going to guess it. If you don’t want—”

“It’s not a matter of _wanting_ —”

“Then _what_ Tamaki, enlighten me,” Kyoya said, too loudly. He spread his arms out gesturing to the whole room. There was no mask now, nothing Kyoya could have even conceived of lying about. “Share with the class.” He was being a bit of an asshole, but it was hard to stop. “Please tell me why you’re—what I—” _Tell me why you’re upset. Tell me what I’m doing wrong. Tell me how to fix it_

Tamaki’s face didn’t change, he was still looking at Kyoya. Kyoya wanted to scream. He was like some little kid, or like a dog, who had preformed a trick and wouldn’t leave with attention.

 There was no leaning into each other, no hands on shoulders. When had it stopped being easy between them?

“You,” Tamaki swallowed. “You said, I think, that something was eating at us, but you’re the one who was pulling away.” This sounded real at least, honest and Kyoya stopped to consider it. “I can’t read your mind Kyoya, I don’t know what you’re thinking and first you start pulling away from me and now you suggest we should date but—I don’t understand what’s going on with you anymore. I don’t know. You always have everything planned out, you always go into things with a million outcomes considered and this seemed…I don’t want to say lack lustre…”

Kyoya’s throat tightened and anything he said now would come out weak. Too high. Pitiful.

Lack lustre.

What Tamaki really meant was _not good enough._

 Kyoya bit the in side of his cheek. He’d known that already hadn’t he? That he wasn’t good—but Tamaki had always told him he was wrong. Tamaki had always told him he was better than he thought. Unless that was a lie too.

Hell, with Tamaki, Kyoya might not even be able to tell.

Kyoya clenched his fists and tried to remember his sister, tried to remember all the times he’d succeeded. He was good enough. He wasn’t bad, wasn’t failing. Kyoya tried to remember but his heart wouldn’t stop beating.

“Look its…”

 _Whatever_ Kyoya wanted to say. _Whatever I don’t need this._ But instead he stood perfectly still.

Tamaki chewed his lip, scratching at his neck. Something slipped from his face. He didn’t seem calm anymore, but almost hurt, worried. “I don’t understand what you want, or what’s going on.”

“I keep telling you! What don’t you understand?” Kyoya said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t—”

“You don’t _believe_ me?”

“You’ve just been acting weird! First you kept staring at me—”

“It’s not the first time I’ve stared at you—”

“But it’s the first time you don’t look away when I catch you.” Tamaki paused for a second. His face was screwed up into something Kyoya hadn’t seen in a while and for a moment Tamaki looked as desperate as Kyoya felt and Kyoya had no witty retort or comeback. “I always used to figure you were just looking off into space before, but now you’re looking at me, and you’re being, quick? Rushing? I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing.” He ran a hand through his hair, too fast. “I just don’t understand. I used to understand you, and now, this…I…”

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Kyoya steeled himself. Tamaki didn’t understand him. Tamaki didn’t know who he was anymore, was that it? Over what? Modeling—?

No. Kyoya was jumping to conclusions, letting his insecurities eat at him. Tamaki was just saying he was confused. Communication was key in a relationship and Kyoya knew he had to say it. He had to stay something.

“I have no idea what I’m doing either,” he said again.

“Why were you pulling away then?”

“You had Haruhi,” Kyoya said, and then, as soon as the words were out of his mouth he turned away abruptly. He marched over to the window, relishing in the sound of Tamaki’s shoes following after him and almost hating himself for being so petty. But he’d gotten over most of his self hatred.

Still, old wounds left scars, things that Kyoya sometimes picked at, things that were waiting to be uncovered. Kyoya shook himself. He had to tell the truth. He could see Tamaki’s knit brows, still not understanding how Haruhi fit into this.

“I wanted to give you time to spend time together instead of bothering you,” Kyoya said. He swallowed.  He’d wanted to be only happy for them, instead of jealous, instead of wishing things were different. He _was_ happy for them. But sometimes it felt fake. He was happy they were happy, but he wasn’t happy they were together. Kyoya was still looking away, starting at the blank window curtains. “I just felt you’d be happier with her than me.”

“Why?” Tamaki walked around Kyoya, trying to get them face to face. Kyoya rubbed at his jaw. “Everything about you is so different now…just tell me what’s been going on, please.”

“In high school…” Kyoya sucked on his teeth, Tamaki looked so lost, like he couldn’t comprehend what had happened and Kyoya felt the words pouring out before he’d really thought about them.  “I thought once you had Haruhi you wouldn’t want to spend time with me,” Kyoya shrugged. “We were closer than we should be and I....thought that you’d realize that, once you started dating and you’d be the one pulling away so I did it first.” Kyoya swallowed and then honed his expression into something resembling neutral.

Tamaki was silent. Kyoya almost wished he was yelling, wished he was screaming or gesturing or doing anything that would make Tamaki the emotional one here.

“I thought….” Kyoya took a measured breath, waiting for Tamaki to speak, but when he didn’t, Kyoya kept going. “When I realized you liked me a few days ago, I figured it might be my last chance to do something before we drifted apart so I may have acted prematurely…I didn’t…” Kyoya gulp and breathed slowly through him noise. “…but I don’t understand this…this suspicion this…” Kyoya uncrossed his arms as Tamaki finally stood face to face with him. For a moment he just looked contemplative, and then his lip quivered, just for a fraction and oh god Kyoya couldn’t handle it if Tamaki started to cry.

“Look, Kyoya,” Tamaki cleared his throat. “I don’t—I don’t want to be someone you only date for a while, and then move on and get married to some woman for money. I don’t want to be someone who was on the side, or a fling, or just—”

“When did I ever say that was what _I_ wanted? I—”

“You’re always saying how you expect to marry for position—”

“I haven’t said that in _years_ Tamaki,” Kyoya’s lips parted but no sound came out. He needed to leave. He needed to leave right now. If this was what Tamaki thought of him—that he was just trying to use him—but then why shouldn’t Tamaki think this?

Tamaki was right, he wasn’t a mind reader and it was ridiculous for Kyoya to expect him to see what was married— _buried_ underneath all the fronts he put up.

They’d barely seen each other for two years and Kyoya expected this to be perfectly fine.

“I’m just worried,” Tamaki tried to take Kyoya’s hands but he pulled away, clutching his hands to his chest. “I know that people can make mistakes with relationships, but…when I was dating Haruhi, I rushed into it. I felt like things would be fine, and they weren’t bad, but we were on again and off again for a reason. She kept saying she wanted to focus on her studies, that she couldn’t deal with a relationship right now and that’s fine, but she always expected me to be there, always expected me to put my everything on hold, like, like she wouldn’t commit to dating me and I don’t know. That’s why we broke up, so that we could still be friends at least. I’m not some dating expert either and I don’t want to ruin this, but it’s hard to…to know what to do when I don’t know what’s happening.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I just want someone who wants me as much as I want them. I want someone who can be committed…”

“And you don’t think I could give you that?” Kyoya said. Kyoya’s gut twisted. Tamaki kept shaking his head, kept pacing.

“No, no, I’m not explaining it right I’m not…”

The exit was right there. Kyoya could storm out if he wanted, or simply leave with his dignity. Three years ago he might have. Now he wasn’t sure. He hated not knowing. He hated not being able to describe why things were turning out this way.

“I just,” Kyoya’s voice wavered and he tried again, more evenly. “I just wanted to date you. Not as some fling but as a serious relationship. But it wasn’t something I thought was particularly feasible so I don’t have any grandiose plans for it. Mostly the only thing I’ve thought of is the business…” Kyoya trailed off, he wanted to say something, but he also wanted to say something that he actually knew something about. Tamaki was wincing at him, and Kyoya wanted to punch him for that. Instead, he cleared his throat.

“Look, there’s a lot going on, but it’s not new Tamaki,” Kyoya ran his tongue over his teeth grasping at words. “My dad and your mom already work together but there’s no real way to seamlessly integrate the hotel business, there can be some crossover, if we expand more into pharmaceuticals they’ll still be too different over all. Rather than be something that one person can manage we’d need at least two people to cover both ends, two successors. Which means, at least two kids, and a lot of the work I’m doing now is more to deal with securities, and starting my own thing, which could work better with the Ootori group. Of course, in France I’d be legally entitled to whatever you own, because we’re married and you’re a French citizen so all your property falls under French laws, wouldn’t it? But in Japan, you wouldn’t be entitled to what I own, I think. I mean if you died all your Japanese holdings would go to me through French law because you’re a French citizen and not a Japanese one, I’ve assumed but the reverse isn’t true so there would have to be a lot of careful will planning maybe, but—but I don’t know anything about weddings, or what it takes to date someone…” Kyoya swallowed. “I haven’t been fantasizing stupidly about this kind of thing because I never thought it was likely, I thought it was,” _a waste of time and never going to happen_ “silly, to spend so much time wishing.

“You need…I didn’t want to make things harder for you and I thought you’d be better off dating a girl, or at least Haruhi who’s close enough,” Tamaki was looking at him again, and Kyoya knew he’d already said some of this, but there was still more to say. “But then, I grew the _fuck_ up and learned that you can make your own decisions.” Kyoya cleared his throat, and looked around, making sure they were sill alone in this exhibit. Tamaki’s eyes were wide, but he wasn’t tense anymore. They were standing closer, but Kyoya barely acknowledged it. “You’re not a child and this is your choice. And I’m not a child either.

“I’ve been here for years and you know what, I’m sick of hiding and playing in the shadows. I like just being able to do things without worrying about the consequences so when you showed up, I saw an opportunity and I took it because I was…because there might never been a chance again and I wasn’t going to waste me one shot because I was _afraid_.”

For a moment there was silent.

Then Tamaki leapt at him, hugging him, burying his face in Kyoya’s shoulder. Tamaki’s nose was wet, tickling the side of Kyoya’s neck, Tamaki’s hair brushing Kyoya’s cheek.

“You’re really pissing me off here Tamaki, a hug is not making your intentions clearer.”

“I was overthinking it,” Tamaki said into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I was—I didn’t think for a moment you would be afraid because...because you’re not afraid of anything and I…I’m so stupid, I’m sorry. I can’t even…I think I spent so much time worrying about what would happen because _I_ was afraid that I, just, I do want to hold your hand. And I want you to want to hold my hand, and I want you to want to hold my hand forever, but you don’t seem like the type of guy to really do that and I was just surprised and afraid that I was deluding myself. I just didn’t want to fail.”

Kyoya pulled Tamaki away so they were face to face, nose to nose. Tamaki’s breath ghosted over Kyoya’s cheek. One of Kyoya’s hands was buried in the back of Tamaki’s hair and he used it to pull Tamaki forward and kiss him.

Tamaki laughed, but Kyoya didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry,” Tamaki mumbled into Kyoya’s mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I just couldn’t believe this was really happening and you were acting weird—”

“I was acting weird because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Kyoya said. Something melted inside him and Kyoya wanted to laugh too or to pause this moment so he could take the time to appreciate it. Tamaki had been overthinking it? What did that mean? Were they okay, was everything fine suddenly?

Tamaki only laughed, the sound to light, and angled his mouth so he could kiss Kyoya properly. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t keep apologizing, you know I hate apol—”

“Let’s start over. Go some place else.” Tamaki smiled into Kyoya’s mouth, each syllable brushing over Kyoya’s lips. Kyoya almost couldn’t believe what was happening. He was kissing Tamaki. Something turned inside him, but it was light, like he was on a rollercoaster.

“We already paid.”

“We can come tomorrow, when it’s free. We can go back to your apartment and watch a movie. We’ll see how that goes.”

Kyoya paused. Tamaki’s breath was still on Kyoya’s cheek. He smelt like the curry he’d eaten for lunch, and the spiciness caused Kyoya’s breath to hitch for a second.

“You want a second date?”

“I want a new first date. But yes, probably a second date too.”

“Then I guess we should head back,” Kyoya shrugged, and even if he couldn’t see Tamaki’s mouth from this angle, he could feel him smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is still more to come! But yes! The date! They had it, it turned out all right, nothing exploded. If you have any feeback (even if it's just "that happened!" let me know) or you have a favourite line or least favourite line or something was confusing let me know. Here or on my [tumblr](http://www.stories-n-things.tumblr.com) come talk to me about all your concerns. Even if it's 2020 I am always down to rehash old discussions


	6. The Second First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go a little smoother and Kyoya deals with the rest of his Doubts

 

Scott was still out.

Kyoya threw his coat over the back of the kitchen chair, but Tamaki hung his up properly. He even spent time lining his shoes up on the mat whereas Kyoya just kicked his off in the general direction of Scott’s shoes. The good thing about having a Canadian roommate was that Kyoya was seldom the one to enforce the shoes off inside policy and never had to deal with keeping them in line.

Kyoya’s breathing was evening out and his shoulders were relaxed, his head finally clearing.

And then Tamaki headed straight for Kyoya’s bedroom and Kyoya’s heart stopped. Watching a movie had to mean watching a movie right? This wasn’t like asking someone up for “coffee” which was a thinly veiled grab at sex. Movies were movies.

But they could have seen a movie out. And didn’t people use movie dates as excuses to make out and ignore the movie? Wasn’t that the purpose of “Netflix and Chill” which Scott was always deriding?

Fuck.

Kyoya walked into the hall, hesitating outside his own bedroom door. Tamaki hadn’t said anything that had seemed too suggestive.

But then it wasn’t like Kyoya would have known what suggestive subtext to look for.

And yet, Kyoya knew there was no way Tamaki would be ready for sex on the first date. This was _Tamaki_. But then again, Kyoya wasn’t sure how these things worked. It wasn’t like he was experienced. Somehow in books and even, more alarmingly, in real life, thirteen and fourteen year olds were going around, dating and having sex and Kyoya had never understood where they found the time or opportunity but he’d generally considered these things beneath him. But if everyone else was doing that, wasn’t he six or seven years behind? He hadn’t even kissed anyone before an hour ago, and sure, Tamaki wasn’t going to expect some—

No.

He’d gotten over this.

It was foolish to think about these things. He _knew_ Tamaki. He knew what Tamaki did and didn’t do, and all the explanation Tamaki would need was whether or not Kyoya was comfortable about something. He wouldn’t push.

If Kyoya honestly said what he meant, and he _would_ , Kyoya really _would_  then there was nothing to worry about.

And for all Tamaki’s flirty, easy affection, he wasn’t someone who was overly sexual. He’d never heard Tamaki make a sexual comment in his entire life, and that wasn’t to say that all the boys at Ouran were equally as amiable and respecting of women. Even with the host club gone Tamaki had never commented on a man, or woman’s or Haruhi’s sexual desirability. Sure he pointed out when he thought someone was attractive but there was no mention of someone’s ass, or glistening chest or lush mouth or any of the other, weird ass things people associated with sex.

There was no reason for self doubt. Tamaki had been scared, Kyoya had been scared, and somewhere along the way they had stopped understanding each other, but they were still the same people. Tamaki was still Tamaki, sunny and bright and comfortable and warm and Kyoya could relax with him. He could be himself without worrying.

“Why are you standing there?” Tamaki asked. Kyoya was too well controlled to jolt, but his eyes shot up to meet Tamaki’s. The door to his room was now open and Tamaki’s hip was leaning directly at the frame. There was nervous sweat pooling at the back of Tamaki’s neck, dampening the little hair there. Kyoya wanted to run his fingers through it, even though getting Tamaki’s sweat all over his hands would be kind of gross.

“Why are you in my bed room?” Kyoya wished he hadn’t said bedroom as two separate words, but he didn’t move.

“You’re laptop is in here.”

“I thought we’d watch a movie on the couch?” Kyoya stepped deliberately into his room. He spotted his laptop, open on his bed with the fur blanket from the daybed splayed out underneath.

“We already did that, or, we tried. I thought this might be better,” Tamaki walked over to the bed, and hopped backward on it, sitting by the foot, mouth spilt open into a wide grin full of perfect straight teeth. Kyoya followed, arms not yet crossed, but begging him to let them move.

“You do want to just watch a movie…” Kyoya took of his socks and climbed gingerly onto his bed, resting his back against the carved wooden headboard. Tamaki merely nodded.

 Then his sweaty, too hot fingers grabbed Kyoya’s ankle, pulling him forward on the bed with surprising strength. Tamaki crawled towards the headboard as Kyoya propped himself up, heart beating wildly, like over the past few days it had forgotten what a normal cardiac rhythm was supposed to feel like.

“I’ll sit at the back,” Tamaki shuffled up to the headboard beside Kyoya and tried to pull him onto his lap, but Kyoya waved his hands off. Tamaki opened his mouth like he was about to defend himself, to explain why Kyoya should sit on Tamaki’s lap, instead of beside him, but Kyoya didn’t care about that.

Kyoya moved himself, careful to avoid kicking his laptop. He settled himself between Tamaki’s legs and screamed on the inside for about thirty seconds. Tamaki was exactly as warm and as soft as Kyoya had always thought. Kyoya could fall asleep like this. He could just lay back and bask in this for hours probably.

One arm encircled Kyoya’s waist, while the other grabbed at the laptop, pulling it forward.

“Why are you at the back?” Kyoya asked, noncommittally. He didn’t mind exactly, though maybe, for pride’s sake, he should have come up with some argument about why Tamaki should have been in front.

“I’m taller,” Tamaki shrugged, jolting Kyoya’s shoulder. Kyoya should take off his turtleneck. He should take it off and lean back into Tamaki, who was also now pulling the fur blanket towards them.

Tamaki’s drew his knees up, bracketing Kyoya on both sides, but that was probably less intimate then sprawling out and letting their legs intermingle. Kyoya felt like he’d swallowed Helium. Well not really because you couldn’t swallow Helium, you’d inhale it and Kyoya would have never done that anyone because Helium was an asphyxiant and inhaling too much could be fatal.

“Are you okay?” Tamaki asked. “What are you thinking about?”

“Suffocation.”

“Oh,” Tamaki bit his lip. “You got really still, if you’re uncomfortable we can do something else—”

Kyoya grabbed his laptop, set it on his lap and struggled out of his turtleneck like he didn’t care, even though his stomach was still practicing gymnastics. He tried to throw his sweater across to the laundry hamper, missed and then just settled back into Tamaki’s chest as he booted up the computer.

“This is going to be a very boring date, I hope you know,” Kyoya adjusted his glasses. “Us just sitting here, not doing anything, watching a movie. I’ll probably have already seen the movie too.”

Laughter bubbled out from behind Kyoya. His fingers darted over the keyboard and trackpad, trying to select something he wouldn’t mind seeing again. He could see Tamaki’s hands out of the corner’s of his eye, sculpted and tapping out some piano pattern on his knee. Kyoya smiled.

“Do you think I’m expecting something?” Tamaki hummed behind him. Kyoya focused on bringing up a movie. Tamaki’s forearms snaked just under his belly button, right where Kyoya’s T-shirt was riding up, but Kyoya didn’t move anything. “I’m not,” Tamaki said.

Kyoya didn’t dignify that with a response, but his eyes were still barely focusing on the screen, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Kyoya…” It wasn’t a warning exactly but Kyoya knew immediately what Tamaki was getting at. Communication in a relationship and all that.

“What, do I have to say everything? You can’t infer from context?”

“Not in something like this! If you’re uncomfortable—”

“I didn’t say I was uncomfortable,”

“You didn’t say you were comfortable either and those aren’t the same thing,” Tamaki squeezed his arms around Kyoya. Kyoya only exhaled loudly.

“What happened to all those stolen kisses with Haruhi and all that other crap? The painting of her and—”

“I know I have boundary issues but that doesn’t mean I’m not trying to work on them. I just want you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable with something,”

“Believe me, I’ll tell you.” Kyoya snorted. Then paused. He shouldn’t be an idiot with this though. “I’m…” Kyoya swallowed, Tamaki stiffened behind him and when Kyoya turned, just enough to see his face, he could see it was carefully honed. Kyoya kissed him, because Kyoya could just do that now, almost whenever he wanted and that—that was what that was—something he could still barely wrap his mind around, but it wasn’t the point.

 Tamaki’s lips were soft. But that wasn’t really the point either, though maybe he’d forgotten what he was supposed to be doing along the way.

 Kyoya moved and kiss him again, his cheek brushing against Tamaki’s jaw’s and then—“you have stubble?” Kyoya pulled away and scrubbed at his own face, wincing.

“Only sideburns, I grow them in really fast, but not like, a beard…”

“I don’t like it.”

Tamaki blinked, eyes, wide, as if he wasn’t quite sure about the subtext. “You want me to shave, _now_.”

“Later,” Kyoya kissed his nose, careful not to scrape his face against Tamaki’s. Tamaki giggled and Kyoya kissed him again, and again, and then it was hard to stop because his stomach was light and empty and he was giddy. This wasn’t even anything special, just slow, soft kisses, not deep, just warm. “Also I’m never going to have sex with you,” Kyoya said before going in for another kiss but Tamaki was already leaning away.

“Okay, do you want to talk about it?”

Kyoya thumbed Tamaki’s jaw, finding the line between smooth skin and hair. “Not really.” Then Kyoya bit his lip. “There are some things that…” Kyoya paused. “In high school, you remember when he had to dissect frogs? There was an underlying feeling of disgust and wrongness, but the feeling of wanting to _know_ was still there, driving the knife. There are some more _intimate_ activities that may be similar for me, if I was in control, of course.” Kyoya focused his gaze on Tamaki’s neck and the dip of his collarbone and not Tamaki’s eyes. His hand was almost clenched by the side of Tamaki’s head, finger still.

“That’s fine,” Tamaki’s hands were moving, like he was gesturing to some unseen audience even though his arms were still wrapped solidly around Kyoya. “I was never really into that anyway. Haruhi was—I mean I was the opposite of Haruhi. Haurhi used to say she sometimes looked at people, and might wonder what they would look like naked, but never felt…what one might call…a yearning for sexual gratification. But I never—well, there are some images that you know are supposed to be ‘sexy’ but I don’t…” Tamaki paused, his neck flushing, pink traveling across his face. “Like just, I think it’s more about conditioning, you’re conditioned to find things like that, but it’s not like I find them independently like that? I dunno, I’ve always, I’ve never cared for it I guess? Sometimes I think I _could_ but I mean, it’s not a problem.” Tamaki shook his head. Very carefully, Kyoya dug his fingers into Tamaki’s hair, dragging his nails along Tamaki’s scalp. Tamaki’s hair was thick, thinner than wire but soft, smooth in a way that let Kyoya’s hands glide.

 Tamaki’s fingers left Kyoya’s side immediately, trailing up his ribs, over Kyoya’s shirt and them fixing his hair, parting in some other way.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kyoya said. And he didn’t. But he also didn’t care. There was nothing to screw up here, there was no wrong move anymore, or at least, no wrong move that was subtle, nothing he had to study up for to make sure he was doing things right. Kyoya almost wanted to laugh.

“I guess I just mean…I don’t know. I guess I just mean that sexual attraction and having a sexual drive are two very different things and it’s, I’m not sure which is…well…I don’t know how I feel about it, either of them. Or if I don’t feel it. I mean, you know.”

“Well, I don’t have much of either. Which is to say none. But that wasn’t an invitation to explain it to me.” Kyoya looked up at Tamaki, who was adamantly looking somewhere else. “I honestly don’t care. I have no desire to fuck you, and as long as we’re both on the same page on that I think it’s safe to assume we can talk about this later.” Kyoya’s laptop was still playing through open trailers and Kyoya let it. His fingers travelled to the hollow of Tamaki’s throat, ghosting lightly.

“We don’t have to _not_ talk about it either.” Tamaki was pouting now, and the corner’s of Kyoya’s mouth twitched. “I know a lot of stuff goes unsaid between us, but I like talking to you. I talked to Haruhi about it a lot. I guess what I’m saying is I don’t really know if what I feel is sexual attraction, or—”

“Tamaki if you get any redder I’ll have to call a doctor. Don’t force yourself” Kyoya smirked, then paused. Maybe it wasn’t talking about this that was causing Tamaki to react but instead, Kyoya’s own actions. His thumb on the hollow of Tamaki’s throat, his lips right under Tamaki’s eye.

“Okay,” Tamaki buried his face in Kyoya’s neck. It tickled, but Kyoya bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to twist into Tamaki’s nuzzling. The movie started and Kyoya forced himself to turn fully around, putting his back flush against Tamaki’s chest. The logo’s flashed by, but Kyoya found he barely concentrate with Tamaki nosing at the nape of Kyoya’s neck.

“This going to be a boring date,” Kyoya muttered again, as Tamaki pressed a wet kiss to Kyoya’s neck.

“The next one will be more interesting then.”

The next one.

And despite himself, Kyoya smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So it's over! Kyoya and Tamaki have started on their path and things are looking up! I hope everything has lived up to people's expectations (hah) and that everyone truly enjoyed how things ended. That being said, if you have something you thought was confusing (or something was very obviously spelt wrong) feel free to let me know! Or if you had a favourite line or favourite chapter or scene let me know about that either! What did you like about this story? What got you reading on or what made you almost stop reading? You can leave a comment here or on my [tumblr](http://www.stories-n-things.tumblr.com)
> 
> Never feel bad for leaving a comment! Long comments are fine and if you just want to gush about things, that's fine too.


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